


Just Ask Dad; or, Talking Things Through on Taris

by Findswoman



Series: The Katts and Stann stories [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: Advice, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hard-to-pronounce names, Humor, Parental Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2019-01-30 20:11:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12660576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Findswoman/pseuds/Findswoman
Summary: The female KOTOR protagonist, soon after meeting Bastila for the first time, consults her dad for advice. Yes, you read that right. Based on a crazy, random dream I once had. Includes text quoted from KOTOR. Thanks to Admiral Volshe and Ewok_Poet for feedback on earlier drafts.





	Just Ask Dad; or, Talking Things Through on Taris

“ _Save_ me? Is _that_ what you were trying to accomplish by riding in that swoop race? Well, as far as rescues go, this is a pretty poor example. In case you hadn’t noticed, I managed to free myself from that neural restraint collar without your help. In fact, it’s more accurate to say that _I_ saved _you._ ”  
  
So this,I thought, is _the_ Bastila Shan. This woman in the ridiculous little circus-suit thing, standing there with her hand on her hip trying to tell me I didn’t really rescue her. The famous, illustrious Bastila Shan who had escaped to Taris from the wreckage of the _Endar Spire._ The one Carth and I had been busting our behinds to find and rescue for the last five days.  
  
And this is how she talked to me during our entire walk back through the Upper City of Taris. I walked as fast as I could, trying not to look at her and her bouncy little side-curls. All the while my twin swords swung dangerously close to my and the other passerby’s thighs. To this day I have no idea why we didn’t spring the extra fifty credits for proper scabbards. Even just the cheap leatherette ones.  
  
By the time we arrived back at our makeshift headquarters in apartment twenty-three- _besh_ of the South Apartments, my eyes were in tears. Carth, bless his heart, naturally had to place a hand on my shoulder in that gentle, gingerly way of his and ask, “What’s the matter?”  
  
I came very close to saying something like, “Oh, nothing, except that this precious Bastila you’ve been maundering on about is the Galaxy’s premier snot and I want to slap that porcelain-doll face of hers from here to the Unknown Regions. That, and you should shave. The 1700-hours-shadow look doesn’t suit you.” But I lacked the presence of mind and blew my nose instead.  
  
Fortunately no one was in the back room. I went in, shut the door, locked it, and did what the younger version of me always used to do when the going got rough.  
  
I commed my dad.  
  
And what good would that do, you ask? Well, let me tell you a little about my dad. Stanislauff “Stann” Rzewanczkowski. Retired Aratech foreman, devoted husband and father, uncannily canny pazaak player, appreciator of fine Corellian ales, etc., etc. A bastion of no-nonsense practicality, always there with a helpful word of advice to his loved ones. Even if it was nothing more than “Just be yourself, darlin’.”  
  
I entered his frequency, and after a few moments the comm crackled to life with an image of his heavyset, coverall-clad form.  
  
“How ya doin’, princess?” (This is where I mention that my father is the only one in the entire Galaxy—and I mean the _only_ one—who is authorized to call me that.)  
  
“All right, I guess, Dad. How about you?”  
  
“Can’t complain, can’t complain. Now I know you got something on your mind, don’tcha, doll, or you wouldn’t be callin’ me out of the blue like this, would ya?”  
  
“Well, yeah.” Taking a deep breath, I launched into the whole crazy story of how I’d escaped from the _Endar Spire,_ ended up on Taris with Carth, braved not one but _two_ angry swoop gangs, ran around the Undercity like a Coruscant game fowl with its head cut off to find that prototype swoop accelerator, and won that accursed swoop race just to save that Jedi prima donna’s implausibly perky rear end from the Vulkars. Only so she could lord it over Carth and me like some kind of _mahvelous_ Hutt queen.  
  
“Hmmm.” Dad’s blocky, bestubbled face assumed the closest thing it could to a philosophical look. “Sounds a little like that bratty _cheeka_ you went to school with back in the day. Flo-something-something, I think her name was.”  
  
“Florissa Spevverley-Antilles. What about her?”  
  
“One who used to tease ya durin’ swim class about yer—”  
  
“Yes, Dad, I _know who you mean._ ” My rejoinder was icy. I did not, at this particular juncture, need to be reminded of the trials and tribulations of my puberty years. Especially not by my sexagenarian father.  
  
“Well, didn’t you just . . . _lightning_ her or something?”  
  
“Dad.” I rolled my eyes and sighed. Of course he _would_ suggest such a ridiculous thing. “ _Aurek,_ I don’t even know if I can _do_ that anymore. _Besh,_ even if I could, I don’t think it would really be a good idea with this Bastila woman.”  
  
“Well, why ever not?”  
  
“Because she’s got battle meditation.”  
  
“Battle medi- _what?_ ” The blue holographic face twisted quizzically. “What is she, like an army doc? Don’t the Republic already got enough o’ those?”  
  
“Battle _meditation_ with a _trill,_ not _medication_ with a _cresh._ ” I sighed again. “I have no idea what it is. But apparently we need it to defeat Malak and bring down the Sith and yadda yadda yadda. Or something. At least that’s what Carth says.”  
  
“Carth?” He drew himself up in that suspicious-father way that I remembered so well from my adolescence. “Who’s Carth?”  
  
“Carth Onasi. He’s a Republic soldier. The one I escaped from the _Endar Spire_ with. I just told you.”  
  
“Now just you wait a minute, sweetheart. What have I told ya about takin’ up with the first man who—”  
  
“DAD!” Honestly, the man was starting to exasperate me. “It’s not like that _at all!_ We were just stationed on board the same ship. Besides, he needs to shave. Can we get back on topic, _pleeease?_ ”  
  
“All right, all right. I apologize, darlin’. Don’t getcher panties in a bunch. So this Basti-dame—”  
  
“Right, so, as I was saying, after the swoop race, she and Carth and I manage to fight off Brejik and his goons, and then we head back to the apartment, and now she thinks she can just waltz in here and—”  
  
I stopped short as I heard the sound of voices coming from the main room. Carth and Bastila were arguing. Such phrases as “ _your_ commander ” and “ _my_ mission ” and “a _good_ leader ” were being bandied about with unsettling fervor.  
  
“Oh Force, Dad, now she and Carth are arguing about who’s in charge of the mission and I just can’t take it anymore, I JUST CAN’T—”  
  
“Hey, hey, hey now, precious. It’s gonna be all right. Look, ya just gotta go in there and tell her who’s boss.”  
  
“Okay, but—but now she’s going on about how she’s a member of the Jedi Order! How do I know _she’s_ not the boss?”  
  
“Well, if she’s standin’ there bickerin’ with yer soldier friend instead o’ comin’ up with a proper plan to get you all _off_ that Force-forsaken ball o’ rock, then she’s not showin’ much of what they call leadership ability, is she? Go right up to her an’ _tell_ her that!”  
  
I took another deep breath and composed myself. “Okay, Dad. You’re right. I’m going to go in there and tell her exactly what you said. I shall say, ‘ You aren’t showing much leadership ability right now, Bastila.’”  
  
“That’s my brave girl.” The image of the square, wizened face beamed. “Spoken like a true Rzewanczkowski.”  
  
“Thanks, Dad.” I smiled too, because for some reason that felt like a really big compliment coming from him.  
  
“And if that don’t work, then just choke her or somethin’.”  
  
“ _Choke_ her?!” Force, this again? “Dad, what are you _talking_ about?!”  
  
“Remember that time Phyleena McSpoons was talkin’ smack about your Winter Formal gown, and you—”  
  
“DAAAD!”  
  
“Sorry, darlin’, sorry. Now look, I gotta go, but you take care o’ yourself, y’hear?”  
  
“Okay, Dad. You too.”  
  
“Love ya.”  
  
“Love you too, Dad. Bye.”  
  
I hit END on the comm unit’s input interface. The bulky blue image crackled and faded. Exuding newfound confidence, I spun on my heel toward the main room of the apartment. I was going to tell that Basti-dame, as my dad had so aptly called her, exactly how little leadership ability she had.  
  
And then maybe, just maybe, if she were nice about it, I’d tell her about The Vision.™ You know, the one I had with Revan and the duel and all. But that’s a story for another time.  
  
* * *  
  
Some time later, as the group was preparing to set out from apartment twenty-three- _besh_ in search of some way off Taris, Carth’s eyes happened to fall on the comm unit in the back room. Its display showed that one call had been made that afternoon, around the same time he and Bastila had been arguing about who was in charge of the mission.  
  
Intrigued, he punched MORE on the input interface. The log screen appeared, showing that a four-and-a-half-minute holocall had been made at 1734 hours to RZEWANCZKOWSKI STANISLAUFF.  
  
Carth’s first reaction was to puzzle over how the hey one even was supposed to pronounce that. He even tried to sound it out. “Errr-zeeww-anks . . . ? No, that can’t be right . . .”  
  
And then, with sudden alarm, he remembered that he himself had some relatives named Onasziszyszkiewicz.  
  
He wondered if he should warn Bastila. ¶

**Author's Note:**

> The events of this story take place around the “Rescue of Bastila Shan” portion of KOTOR (for a summary, see here: http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Rescue_of_Bastila_Shan).
> 
> The apartment number is not specified in the game, so I just made one up. As for the four-and-a-half-minute figure for the comm call, I read the comm conversation out loud and timed it, allowing for the extra time the protagonist might take to tell her story in detail.
> 
> The protagonist’s two former schoolmates are OCs. And I imagine that mahvelous Hutt queens might have existed in the Old Republic era just as in the Saga era. ;)
> 
> According to my understanding of modern Polish pronunciation rules, Rzewanczkowski would be pronounced something like “zhehv-ahnch-KOHV-skee” and Onasziszyszkiewicz along the lines of “oh-nah-shee-SHISH-ke-vitch.” Imagine for a moment how an English speaker, say on prewar Ellis Island, might shorten or simplify those names…
> 
> And finally, some Wookieepedia links:  
> http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Aratech  
> http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Pazaak  
> http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Corellian_ale  
> http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Coruscant_game_fowl


End file.
